


Risk

by whitesheets



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Drama, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesheets/pseuds/whitesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy breaks a rule in the Golden Rulebook for all of Miranda’s assistants. But Andy hasn't been a Runway employee for a grand total of eleven months and twenty-five days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so please excuse the mistakes. Otherwise, enjoy!

Emily Charlton was going to need to pay for Andy’s lunch a grand total of ten times, before she would ever let this go. Their original agreement for five coffees had only encompassed Andy performing ‘Book’ duties for a grand total of three nights. Nothing more, nothing less. And by ‘Book’ duties, Andy had been made to understand that all she had to do was drop off The Book – and _only_ The Book, which in itself was a no-brainer.

Ignoring the fact, of course, that Andy had ceased to work for _Runway_ for a grand total of eleven months and twenty-five days.

Still, Andy was a good friend and good friends made it a point to be there when needed. Emily’s intensely critical mother was in town, and Andy knew that Emily had been juggling the duties of two assistants herself for the better part of last year. Miranda, who had taken a chance on smart, fat, Andy, had apparently decided that taking chances were out of fashion and fired second assistants every few weeks, much to Emily’s immense suffering and increased consumption of cheese cubes.

To be fair, the night had started out promising. Andy had entered quietly, the flats she was accustomed to wearing now making no sound on the hard floors. Then, she had left The Book on the assigned table and turned to go when she heard it.

It was barely audible but Andy, whose hearing had been tuned to sharp perfection during her tenure at _Runway_ to pick up Miranda’s whispers, heard it.

The first two nights had gone by without much fanfare. Honestly, it took less than a minute to enter the townhouse, deposit The Book on the correct table, and exit again. Andy told herself that the rush of adrenaline she felt each time she entered Miranda’s house was due to fear. _Fear_ and _Miranda Priestly_ were two things that went hand in hand more naturally than the moon took to the stars. So it had to be fear, and not _thrill_ , because that would be wrong. Because that would mean that Andy was actually excited to be in Miranda’s private space again, like she was tasting forbidden fruit and getting away with it every night.

Now, torn between wanting to run and wanting to make sure that everything was okay (since Andy was also a concerned citizen, in addition to being a good friend), Andy had stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, unable to move, because _fear_ – definitely not _thrill_ – was coiling around her stomach. It made her heart pump so hard she felt a little light-headed.

Andy wasn’t sure if it sounded like someone had dropped something, or someone had _dropped_ and the second possibility was driving Andy crazy. The twins were not around, Andy knew, since Emily had provided her that assurance. So it could only be the devil herself, who had dropped something, or had _dropped._ She could just shoot Emily a quick text to check. Maybe the weekend plans for the girls had changed, and they were upstairs, moving about. Emily could have forgotten to update her. Pulling out her cellphone, Andy bit back a curse. It was dead. Fantastic.

Therefore, as a rational adult, Andy decided to do what a rational adult would do next, and made a list. If she went upstairs to check, she could be risking:

1\. Emily’s job;

2\. Andy’s job;

3\. Both their lives.

If she left right now, she would save herself from a full-blown anxiety attack, but she could also be risking:

1\. Miranda’s _actual_ life.

If Andy hadn’t agreed to help – no, if Emily hadn’t asked, she wouldn’t even be in this situation, thinking about risks and feeling _concerned_ about Miranda. Because Andy should have left the “feeling concerned” part behind a long time ago. Emily was going to pay for the level of uneasiness she was feeling right now, with ten lunches, because there was  _a lot_  of it building up in her system. 

Jesus Christ. She was insane. Miranda had probably just dropped a ten-thousand dollar shoe, or something. She needed to leave, she thought.

But her legs carried her up the stairs and into Miranda’s empty study.

With a quick glance, she saw that there was a half-empty mug of coffee on the side table at Miranda’s favourite seat, so Andy knew Miranda had been there recently.

This should be enough to assure Andy that the other person in this house was alive, and moving around. Right?

It wasn’t. Clearly, Andy was on her way to being committed, because she ascended another flight of stairs, which led to the brightly-lit floor where the bedrooms were. She had never been on this floor, and only having deduced it from one of the rules in the Golden Rulebook for all of Miranda’s assistants: The second floor onwards was off-limits, no matter what.

Thinking of it now, Andy was certain that Miranda had extended her some sort of privilege when it came to townhouse access. Emily had certainly never indicated that it was normal for any assistant to ever venture beyond the foyer. But she had ventured, _far_ beyond the foyer. She had seen Miranda’s study, the kitchen (when Miranda felt inclined to work there), the garden in the back (to look for Caroline’s missing bracelet) and the guest bathroom.

Sometimes, Miranda would ask Andy to bring The Book up to her in the study by appearing on the landing when Andy came. Other times, she made Andy sit and take notes. Most times, Miranda looked really pretty and “note-taking” consisted of Miranda actually asking Andy’s opinion about things. Obviously, it had all come to an abrupt end when Andy walked away in Paris, but whenever she thought about Miranda, she would remember the slope of a smooth shoulder, partially exposed in cashmere sweaters the older woman favoured at home.

Andy felt a twinge of something and squashed it away by imagining all possibilities of Miranda’s reaction at realizing that her greatest disappointment was here.

“Hello?” she whispered, testing out her voice and her courage.

Nobody replied, and Andy walked further down the hallway. There were a few doors, and Andy had no idea which one led to Miranda’s bedroom. She passed by three doors before realizing that one at the end of the hall was slightly ajar.

Pausing a few feet away, Andy tried to sound brave. “Miranda? Are you okay?”

Andy waited several moments for a response, before deciding that if she had to face an irate Miranda Priestly, at least her conscience was clear.

She pushed the door open, and looked inside. The lights were on, and there were a pair of shoes lying haphazardly at the foot of the bed. A cream Prada tote laid on the carpet, as if its owner had dropped it there unceremoniously. It wasn’t too out of place, Andy decided, since Miranda was known to fling her purse from amazing distances to her second assistant’s desk with startling accuracy.

“Miranda?”

Again, there was no response, and she stepped across the threshold into what was probably Miranda’s most private space. There were bookshelves lining one side of the wall, and a large, framed portrait of the twins adorned the opposite side. There was even a Steinback novel on the nightstand – over a year ago, Andy would have sworn that the only sort of reading Miranda did would involve The Book – beside a bottle of hand-cream, the only indicator that a woman inhabited this room. Everything else looked distinctively genderless, from the white and grey sheets to the minimal headboard. It was most likely intentional. Miranda had never gone for long periods between marriages, if Wikipedia was to be believed. It would make sense that a shared bedroom wouldn’t be too feminine, or masculine. Wikipedia also told her that Miranda was currently in between marriages. Page Six had certainly never mentioned anyone else after the whole thing with Stephen.

Andy wondered how the bedroom would look like if Miranda shared her bedroom with another woman. It would probably messier, since Andy left her books all over the place after reading them.

Not that Andy had any business thinking about how it would be like to share a bedroom with Miranda Priestly.

The bathroom’s lights were lit – she could tell from the crack below the door – but the shower wasn’t running and she couldn’t hear anything else. Everything sat dead still, and Andy began to worry her lip.

Taking a deep breath, Andy lifted her hand and rapped lightly on the bathroom door. “Miranda?”

The silence was beginning to get to her. Maybe the woman had slipped and hit her head on the sink. Stuff that like happened all the time, didn’t it?

“Hello?” Andy called, louder this time, and knocked on the door a little bit more frantically.

Nobody responded.

Andy swallowed hard and reached for the doorknob. _Please,_ Andy repeated in her head, like a mantra. _Please, please, please_ _be okay_.The door turned out to be unlocked, and she pushed it all the way open.

Stepping into the largest and most well-lit bathroom Andy had ever seen, it occurred to Andy that she should have grabbed something as a weapon, because she couldn’t be sure that a deranged stalker-fan hadn’t broken into the townhouse.

Andy’s senses were tingling. Something was wrong, she knew it. She could feel it, smell it even. It wasn’t just fear talking anymore. The lights were too bright, reflecting off polished white marble. So white, in fact, that Andy almost missed the white hair on the floor, peeking out from behind the edge of a frosted glass partition.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ –

Andy’s knees crashed into the floor as she grabbed Miranda’s pale face in shaking hands.

“Mir-Miranda?”

Papery-thin eyelids cracked open barely, only to squeeze shut again. _Oh, thank God. Thank God._

“Miranda, are you okay?” Andy patted a delicate cheek gently with her palm but Miranda didn’t move. “Miranda?”

The older woman opened her eyes again, looking dazed as she tried to focus on the face in front of her. She frowned in confusion.

“Miranda, what’s wrong?”

“ _Andrea_?”

“Yes!” Andy cried, relieved _._ Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe she had just missed lunch today. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

“Are you real?” Miranda whispered, blinking.

Andy laughed shakily. “I am. As real as can be.”

“That’s good.” A smile ghosted across Miranda’s lips. They reminded Andy of the rosebuds in the garden out back and nights taking endless notes dictated by Miranda’s soft voice. Andy’s heart clenched. “Hurts,” Miranda said, jolting Andy back into the present.

It was then that Andy recognized that it wasn’t fear she had noticed in the air when she first entered the bathroom, but the metallic scent of blood. Her heart dropped a million miles a minute. But Miranda’s hair was pristine white and her arms and legs looked unmarred. Even her cream coloured shirt was still cream. It didn’t seem like there was any physical injury, as far as Andy could make out. She wasn’t going to take any chances, though, and tried to channel some calmness she didn’t feel at all when she spoke. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt?” Andy asked. She needed to call for help, and her damn phone was dead.

Miranda whimpered, curling up into a fetal position in obvious pain.

“I’m going to get some help.” Andy was already moving to stand when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist with surprisingly strength. Andy paused, and looked down into Miranda’s very terrified eyes. _Miranda_ being terrified meant something was _really_ wrong.

Andy shuffled closer on her knees. “Don’t worry,” she said, as much for herself as she was saying it for Miranda. She put a comforting hand against the other woman’s shoulder because now that Miranda was awake, Andy didn’t dare touch her face again, no matter how much she wanted to. “I’m just going to call an ambulance. I’ll be right back, I promise. Just don’t move, okay?”

“No,” Miranda gasped. Her black pencil skirt rode up slightly, and Andy caught a glimpse of red on her upper thighs.

“Oh, shit.” Andy barely felt the nails digging into her skin when she noticed the dark red smear on the spot Miranda’s movement had exposed. “I need to get help, Miranda. There’s –” _Too much blood_ , she wanted to say, but couldn't get the words out. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Tired,” Miranda breathed, and closed her eyes against something, shuddering as it passed.

“I just – I’m going to call 911. I’ll be back real quick. Don’t move,” Andy said, and stood up, forcing Miranda to release her hold. “I’ll be right back!”

Andy sprinted into the bedroom and emptied Miranda’s purse on the bed in one swift motion. Grabbing Miranda’s cellphone, she ran back into the bathroom, to see that the other woman had pushed herself upright. Refusing to allow Miranda’s stubbornness and self-destructive tendencies to cause more damage, Andy found herself on her knees again. She wrapped an arm around Miranda’s shoulders so that the smaller woman didn’t need to strain her arm to keep herself up.

Miranda leaned back without restraint, which meant that she was in a great deal of pain. Shit.

“Told you not to move,” Andy said, gently.

“No ambulance.”

Oh, for God's sake. There was no way Andy was going to let Miranda bleed to death on her bathroom floor.

“Miranda, I don’t know what’s wrong, and I know you don’t want to go to the hospital, but I don’t know what to do to help you. I need help to help you.” If Miranda was resisting out of some misguided sense of pride, or not wanting to look weak in front of little old Andy (it stung, thinking that Miranda didn’t trust her that way anymore), well, it was a little too late for that. “If you don’t want to alert the press, I’ll call Roy. You know what, I’m going to call Roy,” Andy said, having already dialed Roy’s number anyway.

Roy would still be around the area on-standby since he was paid rather handsomely to do so. How else could he appear so quickly whenever Miranda needed him?

He picked up after the second ring. _“Yes, Miranda?”_

“Roy? It’s Andy. I really need you to come over to the townhouse now. It’s an emergency,” she said, hoping that he could read the urgency in her voice and wouldn’t start asking questions. He was also paid, rather handsomely, for his discretion and loyalty.

There was a short silence, before Roy spoke again. He sounded different, his voice further away. He had undoubtedly put Andy on speaker. “ _Okay. I’m on the way. Be there in three minutes. Is everything okay?”_ Specifically, why was an ex-employee calling from Miranda’s phone? But Roy always knew better than to question, and Andy knew he wouldn’t ask.

“No.” Andy stared at the spreading stain on Miranda’s silk hosiery. _Everything is wrong_. “Come up to the master bedroom when you get here. Please hurry.”

 _“Right, I’ll see you soon_ ,” Roy said, and hung up.

Andy fought valiantly against the urge to touch Miranda’s face, even if it was to sooth or comfort her. If she did, she wasn’t sure if she could ever go back to the cordial distance they had before, not that there had been much cordiality, or anything at all, for the past year. Even so, the soft skin on Miranda’s cheeks was dangerous territory. Andy might have risked Emily’s job tonight and perhaps her own as well, but she couldn’t risk her sanity.

How could she have been so stupid, _stupid_ to have waited this long to have come upstairs, debating the risks of Emily losing her job? She couldn’t give a flying fuck about Emily’s damn job right now. And if Andy hadn’t been the one to bring the book, she was sure that no clacker would _dare_ trespass upstairs, even if they heard somebody screaming for their lives. Andy wasn’t even sure if _Emily_ would have done what Andy had done. Had Miranda been left alone for the rest of the night – no. Andy wouldn’t think of that.

“You’re going to be okay, Miranda,” Andy said, firmly. There was no other option.

“I know,” Miranda said, faintly. After a heartbeat, she leaned further into Andy's hold.

Ah, hell. Andy’s sanity had left the stage the moment she had accepted Emily’s five coffees, as much as she wanted to pretend otherwise.

So she lifted a hand to brush Miranda’s forelock aside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta, so please excuse any mistakes. I do hope you'll enjoy this part!

The ride back to the townhouse was so silent, that Andy could have been in the riding in the car alone and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Miranda had her face turned away, and Andy couldn’t see anything but silver hair from where she sat. The partition was up too, so Andy couldn’t see Roy either. Trying not to fidget from the strain of keeping still for such a long period of time, she looked out her side of the window, for a distraction. It didn’t work. Andy found herself turning back to look at her companion repeatedly.

It was 2AM but Andy was wide awake, having made countless trips to the vending machine, while she was relegated to the waiting room with Roy earlier. And because they weren’t “family”, they couldn’t get any updates, which made Andy want to stab someone in the eye.

She had never regretted not fully picking up Miranda’s death glare, the way Emily had, more than that moment the nurse had given Andy the stink-eye for trying to weasel information out of a junior nurse.

Andy hadn’t known how serious things were (and still didn’t know) but the blood had really freaked her out. Not that her brain was cooperating, since it had insisted on going through all the things that could have been wrong, making Roy nervous with her pacing. It had only made Andy feel sicker, resulting in the increased caffeine intake.

She worried about calling Emily or Nigel, but had decided against it because she didn’t know if Miranda wanted her employees to have knowledge like this about her. Her workaholic ex-boss had never appeared to be sick in the time Andy was in her employ. Though, one time, she suspected that Miranda was running a fever in the middle of a meeting with the Editorial team. Her blue eyes were slightly glassy, pale skin very slightly flushed pink, and she subtly adjusted the collar of her shirt more than once. Since Andy wasn’t allowed to touch her, she could only base her theory from the amount of heat radiating off the woman and it had been _a lot_ of heat.

Andy chanced another look at the woman beside her. Well, if she was well enough to be discharged by the hospital without staying the night, it couldn’t really have been that bad. In fact, Miranda actually looked perfectly fine, as if she hadn’t been bleeding all over her fancy bathroom tiles a few hours ago. She wore a dark grey sweater, and black slacks, things Andy had hastily thrown into a bag she had found in Miranda’s closet while Roy carried Miranda down to the waiting car. She even wore the flats Andy had packed (to be fair, she didn’t have a choice since they had left her Pradas behind). Andy blushed, when she realized that Miranda could only be wearing the undergarments that she had packed as well, and felt the heat spread all the way to her neck, when she also remembered the wide array of lingerie she had been faced with in her endeavour to assist.

If Miranda had detected Andy’s staring, she didn’t show any indication of it. Actually, Andy wasn’t sure if Miranda even noticed her presence in the car.

Maybe Miranda intended to pretend that the past few hours hadn’t happened, and ignore Andy all the way.

It was certainly something Miranda could pull.

Andy tried to ignore the rising bile in her belly at that thought. Stumbling back into Miranda’s life tonight, the full extent of just how much she had missed the fashion maven slammed right into her, catching her unaware. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to walk away from Miranda knowing that she may never see her again, for the second time in her life.

When they pulled up in front of the townhouse, Miranda pushed the door on her side open without waiting for Roy. Feeling weirdly deprived, Andy opened her door as well, and rushed after Miranda, who was already halfway up the steps to the front door.

Miranda paused abruptly, then turned to look at Andy with an inscrutable look on her face.

Andy almost ran smack into her.

“Uh?” Andy said, like an idiot, then looked down at Miranda’s empty hands. “Um, sorry, I have the keys with me.”

Roy was still standing there, as it was his custom of waiting for the editor to enter the townhouse before driving away. Andy opened the car door and reached over the passenger seat for her messenger bag, and the bag she had grabbed from Miranda’s closet as well. It only had Miranda’s cream blouse and bra inside – the skirt, ruined underwear and hosiery had been discarded at the hospital.

“Should I wait around?” Roy asked, quietly.

“I think she’s okay,” Andy said, not really believing it but deciding to trust the judgment of the doctor who had attended to Miranda. He had been annoyingly tight-lipped about details but had reassured Andy that Miranda was well enough to go home if she wanted to. Naturally, Miranda wanted to.

Roy nodded. “I’ll have my phone close by,” he said.

Andy could have kissed him right then and there. “Thanks, Roy. She really appreciates you, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, with a smirk. “Goodnight, Miranda,” he added, looking past Andy and at Miranda, who was watching them silently.

“Goodnight,” she replied, which was practically the most she had said all night.

Andy guessed Roy really knew what he was talking about. Miranda was never the type to be bothered with pleasantries, but when she did, Andy could tell that she _meant_ them.

She fished Emily’s copy of the townhouse key out of her bag and unlocked the door. Stepping inside the darkened house, Andy held the door open for Miranda and felt a flutter as she brushed past Andy’s arm. The house was so silent that Andy’s breathing sounded loud. Had it always been so dead when Miranda’s children weren’t around? It made Andy a little sad. Miranda probably appreciated it though, since her office at _Runway_ was very much the same. Like living in a still-life painting.

Andy went to set Miranda’s bag down on the table where The Book still sat, untouched, but hesitated when she heard footsteps climbing the stairs.

Miranda had barely said a word since they left the hospital, and Andy didn’t want to leave her alone tonight. Regardless of what the doctor had said, the memory of finding Miranda like _that_ still made her heart pound. Granted, she hadn’t expected the other woman to welcome her with open arms, and she still hadn’t questioned Andy’s presence, which meant she was still out of sorts. There would be hell to pay once she was herself again and realized _Andy_ was here. It was sobering. Andy had hoped Miranda would at least – what? Let Andy take care of her? Talk to her? Make her feel better? Stupid. She was so stupid. Miranda didn’t need Andy around. Swallowing thickly, she placed the bag with Miranda's things on the table, as she had originally planned to do, and made the decision to wait until Miranda was out of sight before leaving.

But when Miranda reached the landing, she turned around and looked down right at Andy – the same way she had looked down at Andy many times before, back when Andy still brought The Book. The look that meant she wanted Andy to join her in the study, wanted Andy to stay a little longer.

A little spark of hope made Andy’s heart speed up as Miranda disappeared from view. Quickly grabbing Miranda’s bag, and The Book out of sheer habit, she walked up the stairs, two steps at once, thrumming with something she couldn’t name. It wasn’t necessarily _thrill_ , but it was something pleasant. It came from being here, being invited upstairs, even after how she had left things and thought the fragile, strange connection she had built with Miranda could never be salvaged.

Pausing at the doorway to the study, Andy took a tremulous breath. A feeling of déjà vu washed over her, as she held the weight of the mock-up in her hands, Miranda sitting in her favourite corner waiting for her.

“Here,” Andy said, passing The Book to Miranda, not knowing what to expect. The experience of being in Miranda’s presence without some sort of task at hand, was alien, and now that the adrenaline had died down, Andy felt lost.

Miranda took it anyway, as if Andy had been bringing her The Book at 2AM in the morning every damn day of the past year. She better not be intending to _work_ at this time of the night, after what had happened. The doctor had said that she needed to rest this weekend.

“You were here last night,” Miranda said, and Andy’s jaw fell open.

“Um –” Andy could lie. But Miranda was a walking lie-detector and Andy wanted to live a few more years.

“I heard your footsteps. At that time, I thought I had imagined it,” she continued.

That had not been what Andy was expecting at all. It actually blew Andy’s mind a little. “How could you tell?” Andy asked, shocked.

“You were the only assistant I had who took her shoes off.”

“I didn’t take my shoes off last night.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Fine, I rephrase. You were the only one who didn’t _clack_. And I know the gait of your walk.” Her eyes dropped to Andy’s telling flats. “And I know the exact time The Book is always dropped off.”

Oh God. Emily hadn’t been exaggerating. All the talk at _Runway_ about Miranda’s legendary hearing and purported extra set of eyes was true. If Miranda could remember details such as how Andy walked, she shuddered to think of all the information that must be filed up neatly in Miranda’s mind, ready to be pulled up and used for blackmail whenever it suited her.

“Emily –” Andy started.

“Should be fired,” Miranda said, flatly.

“No!”

“Do you mean to tell me that she had the right to entrust the townhouse key to _you_?”

Ouch. After everything Andy had done?

 _Bitch_.

“No, she didn’t. But she just needed some help and I didn’t mind. I mean, she has been juggling the workload of _two_ assistants because no second assistant lasts long enough to actually learn something.” Andy didn’t know where the sudden bravado was coming from, but it compelled her on even as Miranda’s eyes narrowed further. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter how The Book gets here, so long as it did. And you got it last night. And the night before. It’s not like you were expecting her to personally hand you The Book.”

Ludicrously, she wanted Miranda to affirm that she wasn’t expecting Emily to do that. Because that was _Andy’s_ privilege, dammit. They were moments Andy had looked forward to after a hard day at work. It had made Andy feel special, at a time when her personal life was falling apart. Miranda could be pissed off for a myriad of reasons, but to have insinuated that Andy wasn’t worthy of being entrusted to the key really fucking _hurt._

Miranda stared at her, having lost the colour she had only just regained.

Andy immediately wished she could eat her own words. Miranda could still be sick, for all Andy knew (which wasn’t very much), and she had opened her big, fat mouth. She wanted to cry at the irony, since she had been so determined on staying to take care of Miranda, but had ended up caught up by Miranda's prickly nature. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t apologise, Andrea. We both know you meant it,” Miranda said, glibly, but she still watched Andy carefully.

Andy shook her head. “I am sorry, though. Not for helping Emily out, but uh, for everything else. Please don’t fire her.” It was her time away, the lack of practice at handling Miranda. She had been so good at dealing with anything that had been thrown her way - the cutting barbs, condescension or casual cruelty couldn't break her stride. Often, it was the compliments, worded like insults, which made Andy's stomach flip, or a nod of approval at a well-assembled outfit that shattered her focus. 

“Did I say I would?”

“I guess not.” Andy didn’t say that Miranda often did things without needing to say she would, and even if she did express her desire to do something, she always ended up doing something else instead.

“I should thank you for your assistance tonight,” Miranda said, changing the subject to a more pressing matter, in Andy’s opinion.

“You scared me. But I’m glad you’re okay now.”

Miranda looked away.

Andy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are you still sick? He promised me you’d be fine!”

Miranda looked at Andy in surprise, before a small hint of amusement appeared, dancing in her eyes. A really small one. “I assure you, I will not be dropping dead anytime soon,” she purred. When Miranda lowered her voice that way, Andy was sure that it _was_ purring.

“Please don’t say that,” Andy groaned, not wanting to think about Miranda dropping dead, or her purring at all.

“If you wish.”

“I do.”

“Fine,” Miranda said, and sounded like she was taking Andy seriously. “I would also appreciate if – ah –” She waved a hand vaguely.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Andy promised, sparing Miranda from having to ask aloud.

“Good.”

“Um, it’s not going to happen again right? I mean, you won’t do that again?”

Miranda looked at her for a long moment. Maybe she was deciding on whether she should be truthful or not. “No, it’s not.”

Either Miranda was telling the truth, or she was a really accomplished liar. Andy would put good money on the latter.

“Okay. I know you hate being weak and have this tendency to just ignore being ill, like that time you had a temperature and Jocelyn thought that you were going to fire her because you were all flushed…” Miranda turned pink. Andy felt triumphant. “But you have to let me know if you feel like you might go down again.”

“I won’t.”

Andy sighed. “Miranda…”

“I meant, I won’t ‘go down again’, as you so aptly put,” Miranda clarified, huffing.

Half the staff of _Runway_ would eat their Jimmy Choos, if they knew that every now and then, their Editor-in-Chief _did_ explain herself. Emily would. Maybe not Nigel.

Andy wasn’t convinced. She figured she could live without knowing what exactly had happened with Miranda, but she had to make sure it didn’t happen again. “I know you think so, and I hope so, but I need to make sure you don’t pull that again, okay?”

“Andrea.”

“Just humour me.”

“And how do you propose I _humour_ you? Call you and make you sprint across New York to save me if I feel like fainting?” An eyebrow lifted.

Andy blushed. “Uh, well. I’m uh, I’m going to stay the night.”

“Are you now?” Miranda asked, which practically confirmed Andy’s residence at the townhouse tonight. If she didn’t want Andy to stay, her head would have been bitten off without any qualms by now. The bubble of pleasantness within her grew, pressing snugly against her insides.

“I know Caroline and Cassidy aren’t around this weekend. I’m not sure it’s wise for you to stay here alone tonight. And your doctor thought so too.” In actuality, he had said: “Make sure she gets some rest.” But however Andy went about doing exactly that, she strongly felt that it was up to her.

Miranda cleared her throat. “I’m sure he did.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind. I don’t have work tomorrow, or anything,” Andy said, lying through her teeth. She had a deadline for tomorrow afternoon.

“Well, if you must,” Miranda said, like she was doing Andy a great big favour. Her built-in lie-detector must be malfunctioning too.

Andy tried very hard not to grin. “Uh, that’s good. I mean, good. So, uh, you should get some rest?”

Miranda looked at The Book, lying innocently on her lap. “I should,” she admitted, and stood up.

Andy found herself looking down at Miranda, an odd experience. Miranda had always seemed like a giant, in her glass castle, with her petrifying glare and deceivingly soft voice. Andy found herself liking this view.

“Where do I go?” Andy chirped, unable to continue suppressing her immense elation at being allowed back into Miranda’s life in such a way. It almost felt like she had come home.

“You could take one of the guestrooms,” Miranda said, already heading towards the doorway, Book clutched under her arm. “It’s on this floor.”

“Okay.”

“I trust you’d be able to settle yourself in?”

“Of course! Don’t worry about it. You need to get your rest,” Andy said, at once. “I’ll be fine.”

With a brisk nod, Miranda disappeared.

Oh God. Andy grinned so hard, her cheeks hurt.

Miranda’s laundry room was, unsurprisingly, enormous. All those clothes _had_ to be washed. Dropping Miranda’s blouse into the assigned laundry basket, and her bra – Andy turned tomato-red when she noticed Miranda’s bra cup size on the label – into another one which looked like it only had lingerie in them, Andy mentally ticked off another part of the large townhouse she had seen.

Locating herself a comfortable looking guestroom on the first floor, Andy worried a bit about having to re-wear her clothes the next day, until she opened the closet and saw clothes in various sizes. There was even a set of new pyjamas, still in its packaging. The bathroom was stocked with toiletries and included everything Andy could ever need. It was a sad reality to know that Miranda’s guest bathroom was better-stocked than Andy’s own bathroom, and Andy actually used her bathroom _daily_.

It was even sadder to know that Miranda’s guest towels and bathrobes were probably worth more than what Andy made on a monthly basis.

Although, when Andy snuggled into Miranda’s comfortable guest bed in her _very_ comfortable silk pyjamas, she didn’t feel sad at all.

The next morning, Andy woke up feeling better than she had felt in a very long time, notwithstanding the alarm clock’s blaring at 5AM sharp on a Saturday morning. She knew Miranda was an early riser, and didn’t want to risk Miranda being up and about without Andy keeping an eye on her. The first thing she did was to make a brief call to her editor to let him know that she wouldn’t be able to make her deadline, due to a family emergency. It wasn’t really a lie. An emergency _had_ cropped up and Andy couldn’t be bothered to feel guilty about the finer details. She had never missed a deadline anyway, and the story that was due wasn’t too time sensitive.

Showering quickly and changing into some size 4 clothes she found in the closet, Andy headed downstairs to make coffee.

Occasionally, Miranda had Andy make them coffee too, when Andy stayed a little later to take notes, after delivering The Book. The first time it had happened, Andy had been too stunned to realize that she was probably a part of a significant moment in _Runway_ history: Miranda Priestly having coffee with her lowly second assistant.

Predictably, Miranda could drink coffee and sleep right after. On the other hand, the caffeine normally kept Andy up late, even after she got back to her own apartment and she would wake up sleep deprived the next day. It hadn’t mattered though. Andy was beginning to realize that few things mattered, when Miranda was the alternative.

It was amazing how little had changed, since Andy had last stepped foot into the kitchen. The coffee was still in the same cabinet, the French press still in the same corner and little spoons in the same drawer. It had always struck Andy funny that the editor liked coffee from her French press better than the coffee her ten-thousand dollar machine made. Andy still felt like doing a little jig every time she remembered that she was here, in Miranda’s home.

Once the coffee was ready, Andy went in search of mugs, which she found on the same metal hooks, in the same order. Miranda’s (white), Stephen’s (white with a blue rim), Cassidy’s (rainbow), Caroline’s (cat), guest-mugs (beige).

She wished she had her own mug hanging there as well.

“Good morning, Andrea.” Miranda's voice pulled Andy out of her thoughts. 

“Hey,” Andy said, taking Miranda’s white mug and a beige one for herself off their hooks.

Miranda pulled herself up on one of the stools, wincing a little. Andy tried not to worry.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, placing the coffee in front of the sitting woman.

Miranda took a sip of coffee. “Much.”

She did look better though, in a cashmere sweater from way back. Ostensibly, Miranda wasn’t bothered by seasons, when it came to what she wore at home. That said, it still didn’t stop her from looking incredibly put-together and effortlessly chic at the same time.

Andy took a seat across the island. “You’re up later than usual,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. Of course, Miranda was up later than usual. They had gone to bed really late anyway. She added quickly: “But I’m glad. You’re resting. It’s good for you.”

“I was tidying up a bit,” Miranda said. It sounded extremely bizarre coming out of her mouth. “The housekeeper won’t be coming in this weekend.”

“Uh.”

“Stop looking at me like that. It is not an attractive look on your face,” Miranda said, sounding very much like herself again.

Andy snapped her jaw shut.

“I don’t particularly care for my housekeeper to know what happened last night.”

Right. Andy mentally kicked herself. How could she not have thought of that? And Miranda was supposed to be resting, not cleaning the bathroom! How characteristic of her, to go against her doctor’s orders. Irritation flared up inside Andy.

“I could have helped,” she said, and heard the petulance in her voice. _You could have trusted me,_ she didn’t say. Deep down, Andy knew she didn’t have a right to want those things. Not after what she had pulled a year ago. She didn’t want to think about what she had walked away from, didn’t want to consider how Miranda must have felt about her after that.

“You could, but I did not require it,” Miranda responded, unapologetic. It was too bad that the Miranda-who-explained-herself had decided to hide this morning.

From the way Miranda held the mug close to her lips, never putting it down once, Andy knew her coffee was a success. Oh well, small victories counted as well. She would just have to take care of Miranda in ways she knew how.

“Are you hungry?” Andy asked.

“Not now. Perhaps later.”

“Sure,” Andy said, a little disappointed.

“Are you certain you don’t have anything you need to do today?” Miranda asked, casually.

Maybe Andy had been hasty to assume that Miranda’s lie-detector had malfunctioned.

“It’s nothing important.”

“Work is always important.” Miranda’s eyes gleamed.

Andy chuckled. “You would say that. But it’s really not that important. Nothing that can’t take a back seat for a weekend.”

“Is that so?”

“Some things are more important.”

“Ah,” Miranda said, and went back to her coffee, pretending that there was nothing more to whatever conversation they had just started.

Like she had always done before. They were back in this circle, the verbal parries which had meant a million things to Andy and yet, led to nowhere. It had _thrilled_ Andy every time it happened, because it always began, ripe with possibilities. Until Miranda pulled away and left her with a strange sensation of lost dreams. But it hadn’t mattered then, like coffee at 10PM hadn’t mattered, because it meant she could pretend that she had a small part of Miranda’s life in hers.

Now, Andy wasn’t so sure she liked their little game anymore, not when nobody won in the end. Hating that she was letting Miranda get away with what she had always done before (asked Andy questions and then pulling away once Andy answered), Andy felt a little spiteful.

“So, you want to tell me what actually happened last night?” Andy said, bitter that she had to converse in riddles and constantly felt like she was attempting to put together a puzzle with a piece missing all along.

She watched Miranda’s fingers tightened around the mug she was holding and instantly felt bad, spite dying as quickly as it had come. This was why Miranda always got away. Because Andy could never bring herself to intentionally upset Miranda without feeling bad, no matter what Miranda did or said to Andy. Masochism at its finest.

“It’s really hard to take care of someone who’s doesn’t want to be taken care of,” Andy confessed, quietly.

Miranda put down her coffee mug for the first time that morning. Her face was bland, but her eyes searched Andy’s face tellingly.

“I just want to be there for you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Andy continued, emboldened.

“You really do, don’t you?” Miranda mused, but it didn’t sound like she was expecting answer.

Andy gave her one anyway. “Yes.”

Miranda was silent for a long moment, studying Andy with something she couldn’t quite read. Just as Andy was beginning to think that she was pulling away, yet again, Miranda spoke very softly.

“I had a miscarriage.”

Andy blinked.

“Last night.”

Miranda’s words dropped like a heavy rock into Andy’s swimming thoughts, displacing things Andy thought she knew into uncharted territory.

One thing rang loud and clear, making Andy quake with shame. Her selfishness. She had only seen what she wanted to see: Miranda letting Andy back into her life, Miranda pushing Andy away after drawing her in… And Andy had spent the whole time blind to the other woman’s loss. “God, I should have known. I’m so sorry, Miranda.”

“You couldn’t have known. Even I didn’t realize what was happening. One moment, there was pain, and the next, you were there. I thought I was hallucinating.” Miranda trailed a finger along the handle of her mug, eyes fixated on her own movement. _  
_

“Miranda…”

Her eyes snapped up to meet Andy’s again. They were bright. “It has happened. That is all there is to it. I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn’t aware that I was – well, that I wasn’t aware.”

Andy couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She wanted to reach out and hold Miranda’s hand, but felt unworthy. She had actually fallen asleep _happy_ , and had woken up _thrilled_. Could she have been more self-absorbed? Andy felt like scum. What right did she have to want so much, to think that she had a place in Miranda’s life? Not after she had left.

Miranda had to be seeing someone. Andy’s stomach churned painfully at that thought. She didn’t even have the right to be upset at this. Her whole chest hurt.

“He should be here with you,” Andy said, and it almost killed her to say it. But Miranda needed someone who loved her, and was capable of taking care of her where Andy had failed.

“Who?” Miranda’s eyes flashed.

The man whose baby you were supposed to have, Andy thought. The man Miranda most probably loved because she cared enough to keep him from the press. Fucking Page Six and Wikipedia. Andy stared at her beige mug. She didn’t belong with Miranda’s carefully arranged row of mugs. _White, white with a blue rim, rainbow, cat._

Just like that, Andy knew who and saw red.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd like to apologise for putting this up so late! I have been pulling almost 70-hour work weeks since my last update, but I have finally found some time this weekend to wrap this up. Like the previous two chapters, this is unbeta-ed so there may be some mistakes in there that I missed. I am also pondering on the possibility of writing a prequel to this so there may be more in the future.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you all very much for reading. Enjoy!

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Andy spat, unable to contain her disbelief, and pure anger at the situation and whole fucking world. She took it all back. He _shouldn’t_ be here, not if she could help it.

At first, Miranda looked taken aback by the vehemence in Andy’s tone, and then looked livid. “How dare you _presume_ to talk to me like this?”

Normally, the ice in the soft-spoken voice would have sent shivers down Andy’s spine, killing whatever semblance of a backbone she had. But this time, it melted against the heat of Andy’s ire. That she wasn’t Miranda’s assistant anymore was also a great confidence-booster, since the threat of unemployment no longer applied. She _could_ put Andy on a blacklist though, but something told Andy she would never do that. Not the Miranda who spoke to her like she had thoughts worth listening to, who let Andy sit with her in her study at night… who let Andy watch her without saying a word about it, because she _had_ to know Andy was blatantly watching.

“It’s Stephen, right? You’re seeing him again.”

“That is none of your business,” Miranda said, very sharply, confirming Andy’s suspicions. “How dare you –”

Andy didn’t let her finish, sliding off the stool she had been perching on. She looked over her shoulder and looked at the row of mugs again. White with a blue rim. If it had been any other guy, Andy could have overcome her resentment. But _Stephen_?

“Oh, I dare, Miranda. I _dare._ I’m here, aren’t I? If I were scared of you, I wouldn’t have gone to check on you last night.”

“How courageous of you, Andrea,” Miranda mocked. “Yet, you left like a coward,” she sniped, glare blistering.

“Cowardice had nothing to do with why I left,” Andy said. She’d left an unfulfilling job, left because she wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of being attracted to her terrifying, horribly beautiful boss. It actually surprised her that Miranda had taken this long to bring it up.

“So why did you?” Miranda asked, flatly.

Andy held her gaze, and was astounded at the bitterness she found. She would have expected disappointment, but the piercing hurt took her breath away.

“I just had to,” Andy said, trembling slightly. God, Miranda cared. Miranda Priestly cared about Andy Sachs because she was _hurt_ that Andy had left. _Miranda_ cared.

Miranda smiled, but it was unpleasant. “An inspiring reason,” she said, frostily and slipped off her own stool with a smooth elegance. “Perhaps you think that you are entitled to this behavior just because I have allowed you into my confidence. In hindsight, it was probably a grievous mistake to have done so since you seem to think it grants you the privilege to comment on my private life.”

Oh, for the love of God.

“That is such bullshit!” Andy rounded the island, and Miranda took a step back, alarmed. The muscles in her neck tensed. “Stephen is an asshole.” Because Miranda was doing it _again_. Showing Andy a glimpse of something, and then pulling back. Always pulling back and for what? An alcoholic son of a bitch with insecurity issues regarding his wife’s career? Or was it ex-wife now? Andy was tired of it. She took a step forward to narrow the distance Miranda had attempted to put between them. “The way you used to yield to him made me sick.”

“Andrea,” Miranda said, but Andy couldn’t tell if it was said in warning or as a plea.

“Sometimes, I hear you on the phone with him. It was different. You were always apologising, pleading for him to understand. He never understood.”

“Oh, and _you_ understood?” Miranda jeered.

It hurt. Andy wanted to lash out, but tried think of how Miranda had to be feeling right now. Tired. Humiliated? Since she probably never realized Andy had noticed the way she let Stephen talk to her and that had to be a bitter pill to swallow for a woman as proud as she was – the last thing Andy had wanted her to feel.

“More than he did. And does he even know what happened last night? He wasn’t even here with you,” Andy said, needing the other woman to realize how unworthy Stephen was. He couldn’t love Miranda the way she needed, and he had been the cause of Miranda’s tears in Paris. Fucking asshole.

The other woman averted her gaze briefly but didn’t take another step back.

“He doesn’t know,” Miranda finally said.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Does he – I mean, is he back for good?”

Slowly, Miranda shook her head. “It would seem that his presence only served to remind me as to why it never worked previously.”

“But you were … um,” Andy wanted to ask, but was revolted at the images of Miranda in bed with Stephen. They had been married, the voice in her head said. Of course, they’ve had sex. And Andy wasn’t so naïve to think that Miranda only slept with people within the confines of traditional marriage, even if she had always imagined Miranda to be absurdly proper when it came to things like sex.

“Yes, well.” Miranda pursed her lips. “I ended our acquaintance recently. Before I knew – before last night. There is no reason for him to know.”

The ball of anger in Andy’s stomach started to dissipate. “I hated it, you know. I hated that he could reduce Miranda Priestly into this woman I didn’t know.”

“I don’t think I am who you think you know, Andrea,” Miranda replied, eyes flicking up to catch Andy’s after a moment.

“I don’t think you know how much I really know,” Andy threw back, adrenaline pumping in her veins. She flashed Miranda a blinding smile, encouraged by the editor’s continued presence in front of her.

Miranda’s lips quirked. “I’m inclined to believe you.”

“Good. You should. Believe me, I mean,” Andy said. Unlike Miranda, she couldn’t really compose eloquent sentences while distracted. Not while standing so closely to a woman she wanted to so desperately reach out to touch again and last night didn’t count, since Miranda was ill and the physical contact was purely carried out on a need-to basis. The smell of shampoo and something entirely Miranda’s own was wreaking havoc with her brain.

“I do.”

Blue eyes were looking at Andy, as if waiting to see her next move.

If this was like any other time they had danced this close, Miranda would have shut down the conversation and changed the topic or send Andy home before she could even finish her coffee. She had never allowed Andy the time to respond after baiting her to the edge, never allowed Andy to fall into what must probably be bliss. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been ready to catch. Andy’s pulse quickened. Maybe, maybe Miranda was ready now. Maybe – oh, god, Miranda was staring at Andy’s lips and her brain melted.

But before Andy could do anything, Miranda said: “I recall somebody offering to make breakfast,” and slipped out of Andy’s reach, like the whole thing before had been a product of Andy’s pathetic imagination.

Andy fought the urge to groan.

Already missing closeness of the other woman, Andy tried to match Miranda’s casualness as she sipped her already lukewarm coffee before setting out a cutting board to slice the bread. Pre-sliced bread, the kind Andy grew up eating, and still ate, didn’t have a place in Miranda’s kitchen.

Noon came faster than either of them expected, and when Andy began to feel like she might have  been expected to leave, Miranda had decreed (it didn’t sound like she was asking) that Andy was to work in the study while Miranda looked through The Book since she refused to be the reason of Andy’s potential unemployment.

The brisk strokes of Miranda’s red-ink flew across countless Post-Its, and the scratching sound was familiar and pleasant. It was amazing how relaxed she felt, curled up on a couch so comfortable she couldn’t fathom how Miranda managed to stay so focused on her work when Andy was already melting into a puddle.

And sitting there, with the sound of a scratchy pen and barely concealed sighs of annoyance at a poor employee’s incompetence, Andy realized she was in love with the woman she was currently sharing a couch with.

She knew she had been attracted. But every _Runway_ employee was attracted to Miranda, even if they hated her. There was no logical reason why anybody would subject themselves to being steam-rolled on a daily basis unless they were drawn to Miranda’s magnetism in some way or other. However, unlike most _Runway_ employees, whose exposure to Miranda had mostly been confined to work, Andy had developed a full-on crush on the woman glimpsed only in the quiet moments at the townhouse. A rare smile at something done right in The Book, the way she let her mug linger on her lips when drinking coffee, smooth shoulder blades because Miranda’s arms were almost always covered at the office. She had missed every single moment they had shared together with painful clarity.

All Andy had wanted was to do was to make the days easier, to take on and filter out the sludge of a common day so Miranda would have more time to focus on doing what she lived to do – to produce a premier fashion magazine – and to spend some time with the children she loved so much. She wanted to be the reason of those rare smiles, and if she couldn’t, she had settled for being a facilitator of sorts.

Those times Andy had convinced herself that Miranda would never notice … now, all recent evidence pointed to the contrary.

 _I love Miranda Priestly_ , Andy thought, thrilled that it was something she _could_ think about. She couldn’t stop from smiling. When had it all morphed from a crush into something more profound? A year ago, such a revelation would have sent Andy running for the hills and she wouldn’t have knowingly risked her heart for a little nightly game of unsaid words with her boss. _But you did run away_. _And now you’re back_. Maybe it had never been a crush.

Maybe Miranda felt the same.

She bit her lip to prevent a full-blown grin, unable to concentrate on her article, not when Miranda was only a few inches way and Andy was trying really hard to remember her noble intentions.

“Is there something you want to say?” Miranda’s voice pierced through Andy’s epiphany.

Yes, Andy thought, but her head moved from side to side. _I love you_.

“You have been staring for the past five minutes, Andrea.”

Ah, so Miranda most definitely noticed. She must have noticed then too and had allowed Andy to go on the way she did while under the impression that she had been oblivious. It had taken her a year to finally clear her head and view things more objectively than before. That Miranda recognized Andy’s gait after a whole damn year was _something_. It meant Andy wasn’t lumped along with the people who weren’t deemed worthy enough to be remembered, since the editor didn’t even bother to remember names on the best of days.

“Maybe I had been staring into space,” Andy said, feeling daring now that she knew Miranda wasn’t always as indifferent as she looked to be.

“Well, stare at another space,” Miranda threw back, attention already back to The Book.

Andy thought Miranda looked peeved, but she couldn’t tell if it was from her smart-ass retort or from work. She couldn’t stop herself. “I was under the impression that you wanted my company.”

A very faint colour bloomed on pale cheeks and Andy felt like she had invented something groundbreaking.

“Self-flattery, my.”

“More like astute observation,” Andy said, and watched in pleasure as the colour deepened and turned Miranda’s complexion a tint less pale.

“Or wishful thinking.”

Andy was a little wounded that Miranda refused to admit wanting her around (not that she had ever done so in the past), and seemed to have completely chosen to ignore Andy’s confession about wanting to take care of her. But she really shouldn’t be surprised. As far as she knew, three husbands had failed to change Miranda’s ways and Andy was only an ex-assistant who had gotten to see some rooms in the townhouse.

“Maybe,” Andy conceded, trying hard to keep any sadness out of her voice. “But I’m still glad I’m here,” she continued. _With you_ , she added silently, though it wasn’t a sure thing that the other woman couldn’t hear it anyway.

Miranda looked over, and pursed her lips contemplatively. She was fond of giving Andy such looks, had given her plenty of such looks before, and it still gave Andy a delicious thrill up her spine. It made the risks she had taken, saying things she wouldn’t have normally dared to say to Miranda, well-worth taking.

Not confident that she could resist grabbing Miranda for a kiss, Andy put her laptop aside and stood up, pretending to stretch when she felt eyes watching her intently. She wasn’t prepared for how quickly those old feelings and desires came rushing back.

Andy had made a show out of stretching, and had her hands clasped behind her back when Miranda finally spoke.

“I know,” she said, her voice was quieter than usual.

“What?”

“That you want to be here.”

“Uh,” Andy said, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“I cannot understand why, since you were so adamant that you didn’t, a year ago.”

This time, Andy scrambled to offer a valid reason, after her spectacular failure to do so earlier this morning.

“I was at a different place then. I was coming to a lot of realizations that I needed time to process.”

“Like the notion of being somebody like me?” Miranda scoffed, but Andy could make out the bitterness underneath it.

“No, it wasn’t that. You are you, Miranda. There is nobody out there like you, or could do what you do. I couldn’t fit in, even after learning how to dress better and put on make-up. It wasn’t what I came to New York to do and I was losing myself in a world I wasn’t sure I could survive in.”

“Yet, here you are, back in this ‘world’,” Miranda said, imperiously.

Andy shook her head. “I left _Runway_ ’s world, and unfortunately, that meant I left Miranda Priestly’s world too. If there is something I regret, it would be that.” It was important that she made this clear. As much as everyone believed that Miranda _was_ Runway, Andy had realized a long time ago that it was the opposite which was true. Runway was Miranda Priestly. But Miranda Priestly was made up of not one, but a thousand intricate facets.

The flint in Miranda’s eyes softened.

Then, blowing Andy’s mind again, she said: “You still look at me the way you used to.”

Uh. For all her fantasies of a moment like this and bravado at baiting Miranda with her words, Andy’s hands started to grow clammy.

“You have always been different, haven’t you?” Miranda said, ostensibly unaware that Andy was glued frozen to her spot. She didn’t wait for an answer – and Andy couldn’t have provided one because her throat felt like the Sahara – before continuing. “I admit, your crush was a little disconcerting at first.”

“My – my crush?” Andy choked, face heating up. Hearing her feelings being discussed so frankly was more embarrassing than she would have expected, especially since she had no idea where this was going.

Miranda nodded. “You didn’t worship me. And for a while, I believed that you were indifferent and only wanted to excel at your job. But as it turned out, you weren’t indifferent at all. You cared, I think, more than the rest. You genuinely wanted what was best for me, always taking care of everything before I needed to say it. Always taking care of me, like last night. It was – comforting. To know I had, perhaps, a friend.”

Andy’s knees felt like jelly and she sat back down gracelessly. Dread was slowly fading away. A friend. She had thought of Andy as a friend. She knew Andy cared.

Miranda skimmed her fingers across a mocked-up page of a Chanel spread, scrutinising a segment of text before scribbling something on a Post-It since she was the Queen of Multi-tasking. When she opened her mouth again, Andy couldn’t be sure if she was going to make a comment on Lagerfeld or continue their conversation.

“I realized that you looked forward to it when I had you work later, taking notes. While Emily may worship me, I doubt she would have reacted with as much eagerness if I had extended her hours every day the way I did with you,” Miranda said. She licked her lips. Like rosebuds, Andy thought, absently. “You always smiled, so willing, as if I had given you a promotion each time I had you stay.”

“It wasn’t work to me,” Andy whispered, irrationally afraid that if she spoke too loudly, she might spook Miranda away.

The woman in question swallowed visibly.

“And that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” Her voice was a little lower than usual.

Jesus. Andy was going to die, her chest pounding so hard it roared in her ears.

“Yeah.”

It damn well made a difference. Because Emily didn’t deliver the book by hand, nor did any of the other assistants before her. Because they didn’t have coffee with Miranda the way Andy did. Because they hadn’t seen Miranda’s laundry room or her lingerie drawer, for that matter.

“Somewhere along, you stopped being subtle. The way you looked at me – I could tell. Everything you wanted, Andrea, I could see it.”

Fuck, did her voice just get lower? Andy squirmed in her seat, anticipation twisting deep inside.

“You could have said something. I would have stopped whatever I was doing,” Andy volunteered. There was no mortification now, only resolution.

“Hmm. The thing was,” Miranda hesitated, the first time since she started speaking.

The pause went on far too long than was comfortable for Andy. If she needed to nudge or give a big fat shove, she would do it.

“You allowed it,” she said. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

Miranda’s cheeks pinked, in a way she had never really seen before, and her heart soared.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to.”

The confession was all the encouragement Andy needed. She closed the distance between them in a split second and reached out to cup a warm cheek. “Good. Because I didn’t want to.”

“O-oh?” Miranda faltered, but at this point, Andy had enough confidence for the both of them.

“I am going to kiss you now,” she announced, because it was the only thing she wanted to do.

Miranda’s lips were warm, _very_ soft and tasted like good coffee. When there was no forthcoming rejection, she pulled the smaller woman closer to her. It was ironic, that a woman so sharp and caustic had the softest curves Andy had ever laid hands on. She couldn’t tell who whimpered because Miranda’s scent was doing funny things to her brain. Clinging on until stars exploded behind her eyes, Andy forced herself to pull away for breath.

Miranda was staring at her, face flushed and eyes wild. Her breaths were hot little puffs against Andy’s face.

It was quite adorable.

Also, immensely arousing.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Andy breathed in wonder. _I can’t believe I’m here._

Immediately, arched eyebrows knitted together.

Andy tightened her hold instinctively. “But I’m very _glad_ I did that,” she said, relieved when Miranda relaxed visibly. A part of her still felt like she had fallen into the twilight zone but another, larger part of her was floating.

“Well, do it again then,” Miranda commanded, sending a flutter between Andy’s legs.

Andy complied, pressing Miranda into the backrest of the couch. She had never kissed another woman before but the noises Miranda was making at the back of her throat spurred Andy on. As it turned out, Andy really liked kissing girls – or at least, liked kissing one in particular. Not that Miranda was a _girl_ or even as absurdly proper as Andy had imagined. Somewhere along, Miranda had slipped a hand under Andy’s shirt, leaving goosebumps wherever her fingers trailed. It seemed that Miranda could also add “amazing lung capacity” to her already extensive list of accomplishments because not once did she break their kisses for air and Andy had to regrettably be the one to do so.

“You’re really good at this,” Andy gasped, when the roaming hand slipped up further to cup a bra-clad breast, squeezing gently.

“Enthusiastic would be more accurate,” Miranda murmured, licking her lips as she felt Andy’s nipple pebble through the lace of her bra.

God, Andy was a goner. There was no way she could walk away from this now. Fuck the ten lunches. Andy would buy Emily lunch every single damn day of her life, if this was real. She ached between her legs for more, but couldn’t bring herself to let things get ahead so rapidly. Not now, when Miranda was probably still on painkillers. And vulnerable, despite how unfazed she appeared to be.

She died a little, inside, as she stopped Miranda’s hand. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“We’re going a little bit too fast, don’t you think?” Andy said gently, trying very hard to not make it sound like a rejection because it really wasn’t.

Miranda stilled. “No, I don’t _think_.”

“I want this,” Andy said, emphasizing her sentiment by capturing Miranda’s lips in a quick kiss. “But you’re not well right now –” Miranda actually looked annoyed at this but Andy refused to be intimidated. “– and I know you said what happened has happened, but if we do this now, I would be taking advantage of you.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “No need to give me a toothache, Andrea,” she said, but there was no bite. She didn’t attempt to remove herself from Andy’s arms either, which was a huge relief. “But nobody takes advantage of me. You should know that. I am _fine_.”

Her eyes glinted, predatorily, before she flipped their positions, leaning her weight on Andy instead.

“Miranda –“

She must have been insane, imagining Miranda dainty and proper. The editor might be known to be colder than the glaciers of Antartica but right now, the heat that she sent surging through Andy with just one look was scorching.

Nimble fingertips played at the waistband of Andy’s pants and she gulped when they slipped past and tickled the edge of her panties.

“I don’t think –” she started to protest, but Miranda stopped her.

“I need this. I need – Andrea, you’re here. You were gone, but now you’re here,” she whispered fiercely against Andy’s neck. “I never thought – you’re here now.”

“Yeah, I am,” Andy said, and let Miranda nibble at her throat.

“Let me do this,” Miranda said, making it sound like a command.

“Okay. I’m not leaving again, I won’t ever,” she promised, brushing her lips against a smooth temple.

“Andrea,” Miranda said. A statement. A prayer, perhaps.

Too many clothes, too many layers of separation, Andy thought, but Miranda had slipped a finger between her wetness, coaxing Andy’s legs open with light strokes. It wasn’t as if Miranda’s hand had much space to maneuver, but when she pushed two fingers inside, her palm pressed against Andy’s clit – oh, fuck, fuck –

“I can’t –” She wasn’t going to last, the way Miranda had curled her fingers inside Andy while flicking her sharp little tongue behind Andy’s ear. “Please…”

“Always so willing,” Miranda said, and Andy shivered from how her breath brushed against her ear.

She sobbed at the pressure on her clit, enough to drive her crazy but not enough to make her come.

“So beautiful.”

Andy opened her eyes at the soft words, to see Miranda watching her, spellbound.

“I love you,” she risked, and couldn’t find it in herself to regret it. She needed Miranda to know, regardless of whether it was reciprocated or not.

“Andrea, beautiful Andrea,” Miranda said in response, and without warning, ground down hard with the heel of her palm.

Arching her back as her world imploded, Andy wailed, thighs clamping around Miranda’s wrist tightly. Soft whispers caressed her neck as she trembled with pleasure, soothing and gentle like a lullabye until her quivering subsided.

Miranda didn’t say anything once Andy regained her senses, but her eyes glittered brightly. In that moment, the way a soft forelock fell over an elegantly arched brow, the pink on sharp cheekbones, the slightly swollen lips… they meant everything to Andy.

This was real. Miranda was real.

And she was sure that the soft whispers of love against her neck were real too.

 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! If you'd like to read an exploration on some events Andy refers to in this fic, you can do so in the prequel, [Mentorship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3386975).


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